


Backwards In Time

by PossiblyHuman



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Kissing, M/M, but theyre both nasty old men and monsters so its kind of gross, no idea what to tag this as except entirely self indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:55:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29158494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PossiblyHuman/pseuds/PossiblyHuman
Summary: A reverse timeline of Simon Fairchild and Maxwell Rayner's 'friendship'.
Relationships: (very lightly implied) Maxwell Rayner/Robert Smirke, Simon Fairchild/Maxwell Rayner
Comments: 5
Kudos: 6





	Backwards In Time

**2017**

“Didn’t work out, then?” 

“What a _dreadful_ understatement.” Rayner murmured sourly. Simon only smiled at him. He sighed. “No. It didn’t.”

“Might not be enough fear left out there for the Dark, you know!” Simon continued, sounding wistful. “The world is so very bright now. Hard to find those...unexplored corners. Harder still to bleed away the light pollution, isn’t it?”

Rayner sighed again, clicking his tongue in irritation. “Yes, yes. I suppose I won’t have a choice but to follow you to the stars again. ...I haven’t seen fear so pure since Daedalus.” 

“Excellent!” Simon chirped, patting his old friend heartily on the back. His hand recoiled as a bout of coughing started up at the touch, muffled into a handkerchief that came away...inky. Thick liquid spilling from the other’s pale lips. “...You really don’t seem well, Halley.” 

Rayner’s back straightened. “I’m fine, Fairchild." Separation, pushed, enforced through the last name. "It just may...be time for a fresh start again.” 

Simon looked at him carefully. “You have a body in mind?” 

Rayner stiffened. They had never discussed it before the fact, no doubt due to old paranoias of sabotage and betrayal. He sighed, wiping at a trail of black liquid as he did.

“I’m looking.”

“Well! I’m sure that will be fine.” Simon said cheerfully, waiting for the tension to bleed from the other man before letting his hand settle again on Rayner’s back.

“I’m sure it will.” Rayner provided. He closed his eyes, leaning slightly back. Then, coldly, bitterly. “...There’s no reason it should have failed.” 

“Maybe the failure itself was the reason!” Simon responded. “These things never do work.”

Rayner grunted. “Maybe…” 

Simon let him rest, then, looking up at the sky above the two of them. Rayner really _did_ sound awful, each breath wet and ragged beside him.   
  


**2007**

"Halley.”

"...Simon." Rayner's voice was softer now, behind the closed doors. They both relaxed, like puppets whose strings had been cut. With Rayner there, the Eye couldn't see, and with Simon's respect from the Lukases, they wouldn't be snooping either. 

They had a rare moment of peace, of calm escape and reflection. Rayner sighed, closing his eyes and slumping further, the heavy pendant of his necklace swinging to hit him repeatedly in the chest.

“It worked.”

“It did.”

Simon sat next to his old friend, and a leg was thrown over him before long, having to spread out in the space as much as possible. Rayner didn’t mind, shifting under the leg. They’d both loved the idea of space travel. The possibilities it could bring for their futures. Simon was more enthusiastic about the fear aspect. Rayner had wanted to go. 

He’d wanted to go so badly.

He’d sent someone else up instead, Manuela, his most trusted member of his church. She’d done wonderfully, but he still envied her. 

“Next time, perhaps we can go ourselves.” 

“I’d like that.”

**1994**

Rayner pressed a book into Simon’s hand. 

He had a burning scratch across his nose, and the look behind his eyes was full of fire. Simon took the book, carefully opening to the front page. Rayner knew he could feel it thrum with his patron.

“...Leitner?”

“It’s all scattered now. Thought you might want that one.” 

Simon didn’t ask, closing the cover with a snap and a grin.

“Thank you.”

  
  


**1982**

“A church?” Amused. 

“You seem surprised that I’ve gone this way.” 

“No, no. You’ve always had the charisma for it!” Thin fingers picked at the front of Rayner’s robe, pulling it away from skin. Simon had to stretch to do that now, Rayner found with an amused smile. He’d chosen a very tall one this time around. “...But, you know. The robes are a bit much.” 

“Am I not allowed indulgences?”

“Is that not what church warns you against?” Simon replied, amused. 

Rayner laughed. “...It is. But mine is different.” 

“I can see that!” Tugging at his necklace now. Rayner knows he saw the closed eye, when Simon paused.No doubt he found it mocking of their mutual… acquaintance. Enemy still, on days where Rayner couldn’t stand to see him. A closed eye was tugging that scar directly. Simon didn’t need to comment, instead tracing over the shape. “...The hand is interesting, is it meant to mean something?” 

“Does it matter?” 

Simon shook his head, clearly thinking something over. “No.” 

“What?” Rayner asked, amused. “Would you like one?” 

“...Hm. Maybe!” Simon said with a grin. “But, no. I was simply wondering what body part my god must be now. Hands, eyes…” 

Rayner laughs.

  
  


**1917**

“Joseph?” The nose beside his wrinkled, words spoken directly over his lips. Rayner jolted, pulling back from those lips with a sigh. He had just _barely_ drifted off. But there he was, dressed as if he were going to the Saturday farmer’s market, instead of sitting in the middle of an active warzone.

“I wanted to try something different.” He hissed. “ ...What was it you were going by now?” Not Simon. Not for another decade at least. The older names bubble through his brain, the oldest the instinct just as Halley was for the other. 

He was ignored, those green eyes examining him carefully. A finger tapped the tags over Rayner’s chest. “It doesn’t suit you!”

“You’re too kind.” He said dryly. He received a wide smile in return. Rayner sighed. “...this one was getting a bit on in years.” It wasn’t. He was barely 30, though the conditions of this war had aged this body somewhat. “I’ll go back to Maxwell.”

“Wonderful!” The other chirped, and the sleeping bodies around them stirred, irritated by the interruption to their already spotty sleep. “Oops!” The shorter man said, marginally softer. He held out a hand. “You have a moment, _Joseph_?” 

It was over enunciated, teasing. 

Rayner stood up, brushing off his knees. It wouldn’t matter, they’d be ruined again in a few minutes. “...I could spare a few for an old friend.”   
  


**1870**

“And what a charming young man you are!” 

Relief at hearing the familiar voice after so long hit him like a train. But that relief was quickly yanked away by irritation.

Fingers pinched his cheek. Rayner slapped them away, rolling his eyes. This was a _funeral_ , for god’s sake. His own, no less. ...Perhaps that’s what the other found so amusing. “That’s not very funny.” 

“No? I’m very sorry for your loss.” The man stood next to him, eyes on the open grave below. “It must be very difficult.” 

“Niccolo-” Rayner hissed, and he got a quiet laugh behind a hand. 

“Of course, of course, I’m sorry. How old are you?”

“Is it important?” He huffed, straightening his posture in a way a child his age would never. “...Fourteen, I believe.” 

A snicker. “...I’d hoped the other one would last longer.” Rayner continued stiffly. He looked over at sharp white teeth, curling back from pink lips mockingly, and scowled. It wasn’t surprising when the coo came out from between those teeth.

“... _Adorable_. And how do you find school, young man?”

“Go _away_.”

  
  
  


**1852**

"Halley!"

It wasn’t Niccolo anymore, but Rayner didn’t know what else to call him. He wasn’t sure if he needed a name for him. He was a constant, and while the other man always made it a point to call him by name, names rarely came up in conversations between only two parties. 

That intimacy of going beyond names, among other matters, was not something Rayner wanted to give up. And besides, the time in which it would be socially acceptable to return the verbal greeting had passed. He smiled down at the other man, dipping his head in greeting. 

Those eyes sparkled back at him, always having the distinct impression of looking up through someone to something greater than himself. As if tipping one’s head back to try to take in the expanse of the stars.  
  
And, like the stars and the spaces between them and the sky that held them together, the two were close.  
  
Perhaps it was the similar interests, the Vast and the Dark worked so very well together. Perhaps it was the passing of the years. So many lives passed over the expanse of Rayner’s lifetime, but Simon, older than him already, was a constant.

(Or perhaps- as there was a third among them who was always present over the years, who didn’t adhere to Rayner’s personal tastes- _perhaps_ it was the man himself. )

For Niccolo had a way with dragging you along, keeping you in his good graces and also on his guest lists. Rayner found this, frankly, _bright_ personality something worth keeping around. 

He found himself smiling at the man, eyes glittering with some sort of mischief. “And what was it you wanted, my dear friend?”

“I’m curious of Smirke’s-” Rayner felt his mouth tilt down at the mention of the man, who he hadn’t spoken with since their falling out. The other continued, powering through his discomfort. “-theory. Would you mind terribly assisting me with an experiment?”

There were many other powers Rayner would dislike living under. The Vast, however. He could see himself being rather comfortable. And there was a part of him that still drew fascination from the scientific. He could feel himself caving. 

“...Minimally. And I won’t get in your way.” 

His friend beamed at him. “That’s more than I expected!” 

It didn’t work, of course, and Simon had spent nearly a decade beneath the sea, trying to get his feet under him again. Rayner told himself he wasn't holding his breath.

  
  
  


**1842**

Magnus was someone he could stand these days. After learning he had something over the man, something that would keep those questions coming with little salvation in the way of answers, initial dislike had turned to tolerance, and now he might even consider him an ally. Acquaintance, even. A friend of his friends turned to something else as the social wheel lost more and more of the spokes that kept it turning. Stable. Bennet was long gone, Jonah’s doctor friend had stopped showing his face nearly a decade past, and most of the hobbyists had dropped off when Smirke announced he was retiring. 

Rayner thought it was well deserved. This little club was more interesting to Smirke than architecture had become, and he had no reason to continue the latter these days. 

But, it was a small club as of late. Parties had turned from large to occupying one sitting room. The same faces occupied the same spaces. Lukas was in his corner, silent ninety percent of the time he was there. Magnus sat across from him in the chair that angled for a perfect view of everyone else. Rayner sat on one end of the couch, Smirke on the other, and the middle space was usually empty, Niccolo preferring the floor over anything else. 

Rayner had realized, a few of these more intimate meetings in, who the odd one out was. Smirke, ironically, who had spent so long dealing with them. He was still human, still unwavered too deeply into a specific “entity” as he’d liked to put it. 

“Making a list is pointless, you know.” Rayner had told him one day. “What use is there categorizing fear?” 

“It keeps me sane.” Smirke had replied, seriously. And what could Rayner say to that? He’d sighed.

“...As you like.”

Rayner had tried to push him towards his own god, but Smirke had shown no liking for the Dark, no interest. Even when Rayner had told him how he could live longer if he’d join him, Smirke had refused. It had put some tension on their relationship, and that only strained more when Magnus opened his mouth. 

“How do you do it?” He’d asked, purposefully, one night. Rayner hadn’t realized he was talking to him, and he soured a bit when everyone’s eyes turned to him. Perhaps he could understand Lukas more than he thought.

“Do _what_?” 

“Change your appearance. Your body.”

Rayner sucked in a betrayed breath, and turned his eyes to his two friends. One set of eyes looked puzzled, and the other looked carefully away. His temper, almost infamous, flared. He remembered a more intimate setting, the only light being the stars, the only voices theirs, low and conspiratory. He couldn’t contain the slight hurt from his voice, underneath the fury. “ _Robert._ ”

“Don’t be cross with him.” Magnus said flatly. “I asked him.” 

“And he _told_ you.” Rayner hissed, standing. He glared down at Robert, who finally looked back up at him.

“...You never said it was a secret.”

“I didn’t think I had to.” Rayner retorted. “It was _implied._ ”

“What’s done is done.” Magnus interrupted. “Come now, the secret is out, you may as well indulge us with details.”

“I’m sure you’re used to hearing this by now.” Rayner snapped. “But fuck _off_ , Magnus.” 

Rayner picked up his hat and his cane and turned away. A shorter shape followed after him.  
  


**1825**

“Temper, Halley!” Murmured, amused, to him. Magnus’ red hair was retreating this time, and Rayner glared daggers behind it.

“I don’t see why I have to entertain him.” 

“He’s looking for more allies, Halley.” 

“Yes, his own continue to disappear.” A pause. “That’s precisely why we shouldn’t entertain him.” 

“But you’re still here!”

“I’m here for _Robert_.” And for you. He doesn’t think it wise to say the second part. It still causes his brain and stomach to turn to attempt to label their friendship in any more definite terms.

“And Robert likes him. You could at least try.” 

“I did. He asks too many personal questions.” 

Amused. “That’s what his kind does.” There’s a small hand sliding behind his back, settling on his hip. It was twenty years before Pavlov would even be born, but the feeling in his gut that followed could be described as nothing but conditioned. Rayner stays very still, letting out a pent-up breath. That seems to satisfy the other, and he throws him a bone. “It’s because he can’t _see_ you, Halley. He asks because he can’t know already!” 

“Good.” He muttered darkly.

The other laughed at him, wrapping a hand around his wrist and tugging him away. A dark corner, no doubt. Something to diffuse his anger.

  
  
  


**1816**

Light, wrinkled, and then smooth again, fingers drifted across his wrist, turning it upwards into the dim light of the room. It pushed back the sleeve, pressing against dark skin in a familiar, knowing, way that made him shudder under the touch.

“Interesting choice, Halley.” The cheerful voice said, hand pulling away. Rayner missed the touch instantly, but he merely hummed, foggy eyes gazing into the low fireplace.

“Is it? I’ve had it almost a decade now.” 

Rayner knew that meant nothing to the other man. Time rarely did. He sighed, continuing.

“They know me by Rayner. I’d rather you say that in front of them.” 

Green eyes blinked at him, wrinkling at the corners. “They don’t know.”

Rayner sighed. “I’ve told Smirke, but I don’t much like the nosy one.” 

“Magnus?” 

Rayner snorted. “Yes, him. You see the way he looks at you, _me._ ” 

“Well! He’s a curious sort.” There was implication there, and Rayner didn’t miss it, latching on with a sharp glance to Niccolo. He didn’t get anything for it, aside from a hand trailing over his wrist again, pushing upwards. “Give him a chance, you may like him.” 

“I _very_ much doubt it.” Rayner could practically see eyes now, staring at him as if he were a piece of meat. Something to consume, or something to toss to the wolves.

“ _I_ like him! He’s sharp.” 

“Your taste quite often falls short of the best.”

They were far from the only two there, but most had filed in to listen to Smirke’s latest ideas, to consume what wondrous device he’d brought to dazzle the masses. Needless to say, these two saw no real...point in the idea. And there was no one around to notice when the smaller laughed and tipped over the taller, pale pink hand closing around the brown column of Rayner’s throat. 

“Best isn’t what I look for.” He whispered, his other thumb trailing over a cheekbone. “I’d much rather people be interesting!” 

A pause, as Rayner considered him. The hand over his throat isn’t very tight, and it trailed up to his jaw, pushing it back to examine the face closer. “...I _do_ like this one. Handsome.” 

It was said close enough that Rayner could feel his hot breath on his lips. When he inhaled it he could smell the acrid beginnings of a storm, tingling in his mouth and the front of his nose. Niccolo’s lips were chapped, as he continued to speak softly about something. Rayner wasn’t listening anymore. He was focusing on the breath so close to his. He pitched forwards slightly, suddenly wanting to inhale that intensity of the Falling Titan himself, push a little of his own god into the fray through the dark smoke that fills his own lungs. The hand on his jaw stopped him, and his clouded pupils flick up to sea green irises.

“You weren’t listening to me!” 

“...No.” Rayner admitted. “I was distracted.”

The shorter one sighed, hand trailing down over Rayner’s chest. “It’s due to being young again, I’m sure. Young people are so consumed by their bodies.” 

“Perhaps.” Rayner didn’t point out the hypocrisy of the other stroking over his skin and shaming _him_ for showing desire. “But I thought you _liked_ curiosity.”

There was a sudden shout from the other room, and those green eyes lifted up, curious to see what the fuss was all about. Rayner wrapped an arm behind his back and pushed up, pressing their lips together. 

It was exactly what he expected, filled with atmosphere and static and startled laughter. The hand on his throat tightened slightly, but the other man didn't pull away. Rayner hummed, pressing up harder. He was dizzy from it, like his breath was being stolen with each movement of lips against his, and he tugged him in closer. 

They didn’t pull apart until the voices started up again in the other room, the tell-tale sign that the party was going to spread back out into Smirke’s other rooms. By the time that happened, the smaller man had retreated to his side of the chaise again, wiping a trail of black liquid from his lips. 

Magnus came over to them both after that, full of questions that neither of them feel like answering. Rayner was short with him while the other played with small bits of knowledge that Magnus chased after like a starving animal. Niccolo laughed quietly when he saw the faces Rayner makes behind the young man’s back.

  
  


**1789**

“Do you plan to try to move again?” 

Reimer glanced up, unsurprised to see the man on the balcony. Their relationship in human years was old by this point, but Reimer had the distinct impression he’d need to know the other for many more years before he fully understood him. He'd had a good forty some years with this body already, but he’d chosen someone too old to start. Someone already deeply traumatized by the Dark.

He’d had the idea to go younger, find a child and scare them himself if he had to. He had a good few years to do that, but the coughing had already begun again. Spitting out black water in between hacks, gasping in what air he could between flooded lungs.

Niccolo had sniffed out his illness, it seemed, because now he sat on the railing next to the other old man. Reimer didn’t know why he was honest with him, but he didn’t see any danger to it. 

“...Yes. I’m looking for someone younger.” 

“Longer time with them?” 

“Longer time without having to change, as well.” Reimer admitted.

“Hmmm. Well, I don’t envy you!” A cheerful response, as he plucked Reimer’s pipe from his fingers, bringing it to his own mouth. Reimer looked at him incredulously, but didn’t try to take it back.

  
  


**1742**

The rain came down heavy here, by the water’s edge. Halley looked down at the cold water, expansive and dark and so like himself now. 

He’d ended up killing Flamsteed, in the end. Hands pressed firmly over his mouth as the black mist flooded his lungs, leaking outwards into his organs and filling them with the inky destruction of his god. It felt good, seeing the fear in his eyes, and it was really the only end he could think of befitting their relationship. Reverent, cyclical. 

The doctors has said he was ill, unable to fathom what else could have drowned a man in his bed. There was an extra priest at the funeral, Halley was amused to find.

...And now he knew he had to do something again. He wasn’t sure what, but the time was coming, and when he’d begun to hack up dark pond water into his sink, he’d dragged his old bones back to this water. Returning neary every night now, waiting for something, staring at the water as if it had an answer for him.

“Halley, I presume?”

His white eyes lifted. There was a figure in the middle of the water, a short man, old and young and ageless all at the same time. Halley looked him up and down, confused by his appearance. He hadn’t met many like him. He must have a god and a purpose similar to his. He wondered what sort of being made this man’s coattails flutter and twist. What god could make his feet not touch the water was he walked towards him. 

Halley cleared his throat. “Yes.”

“Wonderful to meet you! You can call me Niccolo.” 

“Niccolo.” 

“Yes, yes. It’s a new one I’m trying. Do you like it? Is it fitting?” A hand was held out to him. Halley looked him up and down, frowning. He _supposed_ it fit. But he hadn’t known this man by any other name, and often what you hear is what clicks to the face you know.

Halley took it.

  
  


**2017, Again**

...

It didn’t surprise Simon to learn of his friend’s death. It was saddening, losing someone who had been present over half of his lifespan. 

But, it did surprise him to hear it from Magnus. The smile that had creeped across his face when he’d said it. As if he’d won some final game against the man. 

Simon was sure he had. Rayner would have loathed that. He hoped he hadn’t guessed, secretly. Better to die in ignorance and obscurity than to feel like a sacrificed pawn.

He went to examine the body himself, but his eyes had drifted quickly. There was nothing left of him in that shell, not even a stain of black across his lips. 

The body bag next to him was empty, as Simon’s eyes trailed around the room, and he paused. Leaned forwards to the ripped zipper, torn from the plastic seam and split open like an egg. His fingers trailed under that edge, and when it came away, his finger was pitch, stained to the knuckle. He sighed, smiling to himself as he pressed the label of the bag back down. 

“Leo Altman.” He read out. He didn’t like it, of course. It didn’t suit. “...Interesting.”


End file.
